


Stripped Bare

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:58:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: The reader plays strip poker with Demon!Dean.





	Stripped Bare

 

Poker was  _ your  _ game. It always had been. Your dad had taught you to play when you were young, four, maybe five, and as the the years had gone by, you had just gotten better and better. By the time you were in your mid-twenties, you were making a living playing poker. A good living.

You found games in the usual places, legal places like casinos, but you also managed to find your way into those games that weren’t necessarily “on the books.” That was where you made your real money, money the government didn’t get to put its grubby fingers on.

That was how you ended up in an abandoned warehouse outside of Minneapolis, in an upstairs office covered in dust, playing against some very questionable men. Some guy named Crowley with an accent, a couple of bikers - Stan and Elliot - and another guy named Dean. 

He was the one who was making it extremely difficult to concentrate; staring at you with a pair of the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen, a slight smirk on his face, occasionally running his fingers through his slightly too long hair, shamelessly flirting with you, every other word out of his mouth some kind of sexual innuendo directed at you. He was very distracting. Not that you weren’t giving it back as good as you were getting. Though, for some reason you couldn’t explain, he was a little scary; danger seemed to roll off of him in waves. That wasn’t stopping you from vividly imagining all the things he could do to make you scream his name.

Despite the distraction, three hours in, you were up nearly eight grand, Dean was up five, and the bikers were down about fifteen, collectively. You’d just won another hand, another thousand, and you were contemplating leaving while you were up - and alive - when Stan pushed away from the table, hard enough to send several piles of poker chips falling to the floor.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled. “You’re cheating, aren’t you?” He took a step around the edge of the table.

Before you could say anything, or even move for that matter, Dean was on his feet, his hands fisted in Stan’s leather jacket, pushing him backwards and slamming him into a wall. He pressed his forearm to the biker’s throat, his face just inches from Stan’s.

“She’s not cheating, shithead,” Dean sneered. “You just suck at poker.” He leaned forward, his arm so tight against the other man’s throat that his face was turning red, Dean’s eyes black with his anger. 

“Dean,” Crowley cautioned.

Dean stared into Stan’s eyes a few seconds longer, then he stepped back and let the man fall to the floor, where he lay coughing and sputtering. Elliot hurried to his friend’s side, dragged him to his feet, and yanked him out the door, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder the whole way.

“Well, this has been fun,” Crowley quipped, rising to his feet. “But I think that was our cue to go.” He turned to you, bowing slightly at the waist. “Y/N, it was a delight to meet you. You are superior poker player.” He picked up his winnings and carefully placed them in a briefcase he’d kept by his feet.

“Dean?” he nodded toward the door.

Dean was staring at you, one of those long, deep looks that made your skin tingle, your gut twist, and your hands shake. You swallowed, surely loud enough that the two men in the room heard it, and twisted your hands nervously in front of you. You didn’t want him to go.

“I think I’ll stay here,” Dean said, his voice low, thick, pouring over you like dark maple syrup pulled straight from the tree.

A shudder ran through you, from head to toe. Jesus, that voice could bring a woman to orgasm all on its own. You could only imagine how it would sound in your ear as he fucked you up against a wall or over the desk, or on the table in a pile of poker chips. You didn’t realize your eyes had closed, the image playing behind your eyes, until you heard Dean clear his throat. You took a deep breath and opened them slowly.

“You okay?” Dean asked as he slid into the chair beside you. 

You heard the heavy metal door on the other side of the warehouse slam closed. Crowley was gone and you were alone with Dean.

“I’m fine,” you shrugged, hoping your shaky voice didn’t betray you.

Dean pointed at the table, piled with chips, cards, and money. “You still interested in playing?”

“I’ve got plenty of money,” you replied. “Unless you want me to take the rest of yours from you.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “What do you say we make things a little more interesting?”

“How were you planning on doing that?” you murmured.

He leaned closer, his hand on the back of your chair, his fingers just brushing your shoulder, his knee pressed against yours. Your breath caught in your throat and heat flooded your cheeks. His proximity was frightening and exciting at the same time. The man exuded danger.

“How about we play strip poker?” he said. He licked his lips, just a quick flick of his tongue across them, but it was enough to cause warmth to spread across your thighs. 

You squeezed your legs together and tried to breath. There was only one thing that a game of strip poker could lead to, and while this wasn’t the first time someone had suggested you play, it was the first time you’d seriously contemplated doing just that.

“What’s your endgame, Dean?” you asked. “What is it you want?”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hand sliding off the chair and down your back, the weight of it warm, exciting. He was only a few inches away, his very masculine scent filling your nose, making you heady with desire. You thought for sure he was going to kiss you.

“I want you,” he breathed.

Fuck. You bit your lip, holding back a groan. You nodded.

Dean settled back in his chair, a smirk on those luscious lips, a deck of cards in his hands. He shuffled them, balanced on his knee, then quickly dealt them. You scooped up your cards, your brain already slipping into what you called “poker mode,” examining the cards, plotting your next move. You had no intention of losing.

The game progressed quickly, especially with only the two of you playing. Shoes and socks were discarded first, as well as pesky outer layers, more from Dean than from you. When you were down to nothing more than a t-shirt and your panties, and Dean was just in boxers, you dropped your cards to the table and leaned forward.

“What do you say we quit dancing around each other and just get down to business?” you said. “We both know what’s going to happen here, so let’s ditch the card game and get to it.” You’d never been one to beat around the bush and quite frankly, sitting beside an almost Dean was making you consider doing things that you’d never imagined you would want to do.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “It’s all about the winning. Winner gets to be in charge.”

“So, the first one to get naked is the loser?” you asked.

“Yep,” Dean grinned. “Now deal.” He slapped the cards down on the table in front of you.

You picked them up and shuffled them, refusing to take your eyes off of Dean. You dealt the cards, praying you’d get a winning hand. You only had to win this hand to get Dean out of those boxers. You could practically taste the victory.

Except you didn’t win that hand. Dean had a flush, five spades, easily beating your straight. You threw your cards down in frustration and ripped your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Dean’s eyes devoured you, skimming over your naked breasts, your nipples hardening under the intensity of his gaze. You could have sworn he growled, low and thick in the back of his throat. You dropped your eyes, heat flooding your cheeks, only for your eyes to come to rest on Dean hardening length, obvious beneath the thin cotton of his boxers. An involuntary gasp escaped you at the sight. Jesus, he was impressive. And slightly frightening.

“Last hand,” he grunted. He quickly shuffled and dealt the final hand, sloppily setting the deck on the table between you. 

You watched him, hoping this time you could guess his tell, despite having no luck doing so the entire evening. Your brain was filled with a thousand things you wanted to do to him, and you intended to win so you could do just that.

You were holding two pair, fives, but you’re weren’t confident enough to let it ride. Instead, you dropped three cards to the table, fingers crossed as Dean dealt you three new ones. You picked them, sighing in relief at the sight of two fives, giving you four of a kind.

Dean took one card, a smirk on his face. He rearranged them, then nodded your direction.

“You first,” he said.

You laid your cards on the table, confident that he couldn’t beat you, not this time. You sat back, crossing your arms beneath your breasts, grinning.

Dean shifted slightly, easing closer to you. He slowly laid his cards on the table, one at a time until all five of them were spread out before you. Straight flush - six, seven, eight, nine, ten, all hearts.

“I win,” Dean murmured.

“You win,” you replied. You rose slowly to your feet, Dean’s eyes following your every move. You hooked your fingers in your panties and slid them down your legs, your heart racing at the thought of what might happen next. You let them fall to your feet, pushing them aside with your toe.

Dean was out of the chair so fast you barely saw him move, his hands on your waist, pushing you backwards until your ass was resting on the edge of the metal desk. You gasped as he lifted you, setting you on top of it, shoving stray papers to the floor. He pushed you back, falling over you, his mouth burning a trail down your stomach, the scruff on his face scratching the sensitive skin. He pushed open your thighs, two fingers tracing the soft folds of skins, his tongue following the same path as his fingers.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking greedily. He wasn’t gentle; he was hungry, insatiable, a little rough, impatient, demanding. His fingers dug into your hips, yanking you closer, his mouth covering you, his tongue deep inside of you, his nose pressed to your clit, fucking you with his mouth, your body on fire, sensations like you’d never felt before working their way through every goddamn nerve ending imaginable. 

You wrapped your hands in the long hair at the top of his head, tugging him even closer, shamelessly moaning as Dean ate you out while you were sprawled across the dusty desktop. You’d never pictured yourself in this position and Jesus Christ, you were going to enjoy every minute of it. 

Dean pushed two fingers inside of you, thrusting wildly, his tongue moving in double time, until you were coming so hard you were seeing stars, the muscles in your thighs shaking uncontrollably, your back arching, cursing, screaming, as the pleasure assaulted you. It seemed to go on forever, so all consuming, so intense that it bordered on painful. Even when Dean released you, easing up your body, biting and marking you as he went, you were still thrumming with need, every touch, every little thing he did keeping you on edge.

He lifted you, pulling your legs around your waist, turning and pressing you against the nearest wall, the brick biting into your skin. He pushed his boxers down, freeing his cock, the weeping tip brushing against the lips of your pussy. His lips crashed into yours; a teeth clashing, hair pulling, clawing at each other kind of kiss that made you ache with need. Dean held you with an arm around your waist as he pushed into you, moaning as your body stretched to accommodate him.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he growled. His hips snapped up, pushing himself deep inside of you, so deep his hips fit snug against yours.

His thrust were hard and tight, his tight ab muscles pressed against your clit, immediately pushing you to the edge with just a few thrusts of his hips. You were moaning, keening, clawing at his back, about to explode when Dean slowed his movements, holding himself inside of you, chuckling low in the back of his throat as you groaned, begging him to move, pleading with him to give you what you wanted, what you desperately needed.

He laughed again and shook his head, pushing closer, his lip roaming across your neck and shoulders, slowly easing out of you, drawing it out, until he unexpectedly slammed back into you, hard enough to make your head smack against the wall, drawing a loud moan of pleasure from you. The sound seemed to spur him on, to push him to move faster, faster, until your legs were tightening around him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Dean,” you gasped. “Oh, Jesus, Dean, don’t stop.” You were shaking, trembling, the coil deep in the pit of your stomach wound so tight you knew you couldn’t hold out much longer. When it finally snapped a few seconds later, you moaned Dean’s name, one hand flat against the wall, the other wrapped around the back of his neck, holding on as tight as you could as the the most intense, incredible orgasm you’d ever had rocketed through you. 

Dean was relentless, slamming into you over and over, drawing out the pleasure until you weren’t sure you could take anymore, until you thought you might pass out from the sensations overwhelming you. But he wasn’t done with you. He pulled you off the wall, lowering you to your feet, turned you around, and placed your palms flat on the desk. He leaned over you, his mouth pressed to your ear, his fingers twisting in your hair to yank your head back. 

“I want you to fucking scream,” he growled. “I want you to scream my name when you come.” He entered you from behind, the heavy warmth of his body flush against your back, one hand on your breast, his thumb and forefinger plucking and twisting the nipple, his mouth on your neck, sucking, biting, marking you even more. His other hand slid down your waist between your legs, two fingers pressed to your clit, his fingers circling the swollen nub, every thrust of his hips dragging against your sweet spot, all while he whispered filthy things in your ear.

Jesus, you hadn’t been wrong, that voice was orgasmic, the deep, throaty, whiskey-thick words being spewed were an aphrodisiac, raising your blood pressure, until you were spiralling out of control, screaming Dean’s name at the top of your lungs. 

He groaned as your walls clenched around him, pounding into you repeatedly, his fingers twisting your nipple, your body perfectly balanced on that threshold between pleasure and pain, the orgasm ripping its way through your body. Several more hard, deep thrusts from Dean, so deep you felt it in every nerve ending, then you felt his body tensing as he came, emptying himself inside of you.

When it was over, Dean rested his hands on either side of the desk, his lips drifting over your shoulder, his fingers tracing the length of your spine.

“Ouch.” You winced, gasping at the sharp sting of pain. You peered over your shoulder, trying to see your back.

“Scratches,” Dean shrugged, stepping away from you. “Probably from the brick wall.” He yanked up his boxers still down around his thighs and grabbed his jeans, shoving first one leg than the other into them. He tossed a shirt at you, not yours, then pulled a black t-shirt over his head. 

You pulled the shirt on, watching him tie his boots as you buttoned it. He didn’t even glance back as he gathered his money from the table and shoved it into the pockets of his jacket. You were sure he was going to leave without another word, but he surprised you by crossing the room in two long strides, wrapping an arm around you, his hand on your bare ass, and pulling you tight against him.

“Call me if you’re ever interested in another poker game,” he murmured. He kissed you, hard, and then he was gone.

 


End file.
